


Do Dogs go to Heaven?

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Dogs, Gen, the dog dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:29:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: Alison and Mike's dog Benji is suffering. They decide to do the right thing and put him to sleep. Cue the ghosts.





	Do Dogs go to Heaven?

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of half-sad half-happy (I hope) nonsense...

Alison ruffles the fur on Benji's head. He lies in her lap, slumped and disinterested in the cooked chicken she'd tried wafting under his nose.

“I think it might be time,” says Mike. She nods, not trusting herself to speak. They'd hung on long enough, as long as they could, but it wasn't fair on him. He could be in pain; they just don't know. “I'll call the vet, see if they can fit us in this afternoon.”

“Erm, may I – I'm sorry to barge in...”

“What is it Pat?” She plays with the Benji's ears. He's mostly asleep, eyelids flickering every now and then.

“Would...”

She looks up. Pat has his hands hooked in front of him, bending forwards slightly from the waist like he needs to interrupt. His stance on the balls of his feet, however, says he's just on his way out of the room, don't mind him. “Spit it out, Pat,” she sighs.

“Well. If the vet does house calls... perhaps we don't have to say goodbye?”

Because... oh. Well that was a thought. After all, that blasted pigeon did it. “Right,” she murmurs. “Mike, see if the vet can come here instead.”

“Here?” he asks. Then his eyes widen, and snaps his fingers. “Ohhh. Right. Gotcha.”

It turns out it will cost them, but the vet is happy enough to call in on his way home. It's quite a common practice, apparently, with owners wanting to save their pets the distress of a last-day-on-Earth visit to a place most of them associate with fear and pain. He'll be with them at six.

–

“Alison.”

“Mmm?”

Thomas' head disappears back through the door, and then his whole body sidles in, coming to stand at the side of her chair. “I heard. I'm so sorry, my love-”

“Thomas.”

“Right.” He clears his throat.

She strokes Benji, fully asleep now. “Did you want something?”

“It seems an inopportune time... but really it's the only time...” He looks down at the golden labrador, draped across her legs. They never really got on; Benji likes to bark, and Thomas likes the quiet; but she thinks he does look genuinely despondent now the dog is on his last legs. Maybe he's just worried they'll get a new puppy.

“Unless this can wait, just tell me.”

“We've... we've never _planned_ a death before. But it occurred to me... well the Captain has his stick, after all, and it occurred to me-”

“_Thomas._”

“-That, perhaps, a soul can bring with it certain objects, into the-” he flounces an arm above his head, “ghost realm.”

“He doesn't have any hands.”

“He has a collar, we might attach certain necessities.”

'Necessities', right. But then the ghosts have been without any objects at all for hundreds of years. There are no guarantees, but also, what have they got to lose? It's unlikely Benji will mount a complaint. “What do you want?”

“Paper!” he blurts out. “And ink. And a quill.” She digs around in her handbag and pulls out a biro. “I suppose that will do.”

“Gather the others then, I suppose this needs to be opened to the group.”

–

Mike lets the vet in. “He's just through here, with my wife. He's been out of it most of the day.”

“You've done the right thing,” the vet reassures. “You can tell when they're reaching the end, and there's really no need to prolong the inevitable. You're doing him a kindness.” They walk through room after room, gathering an unseen retinue of ghosts. “This is a marvellous house.”

Mike peers at the crumbling paintwork they're passing. “Thanks,” he says. “We're doing it up.”

“And this must be-” The vet pauses. Alison looks up from where she's kneeling, fastening a small cloth bag to Benji's collar. It joins several other bags, combining to give him a necklace with a passing resemblance to a lion's mane. “Benji?” he finishes.

Alison darts her eyes between vet and dog. “Just a few bits and pieces, you know. To help him on his way.”

The vet kneels beside her. “Pen and notebook?” He inspects another bag. “Nail varnish?”

“Yes!” exclaims Mike. “To remember us by. He liked... my stories,” he invents wildly.

“And he'd always come over and sniff my toes when I was repainting them?” Alison adds, uncertainly. The vet nods, obviously unsure, but willing to put up with it. He opens his bag and pulls out the needle and bottle.

“Alison!” hisses Pat. She tries to look at him while also holding the gaze of the vet, and goes somewhat cross-eyed. “The ball!” he says, pointing at a tennis ball abandoned in the corner of the room.

“Wait!” she says. “One last thing.” She grabs the ball and runs back, tucking it in the nail varnish bag.

“Well, of course,” says the vet. “I'm sure he'll like playing with that. Now, your goodbyes...”

The ghosts stand, in silent ceremony, as Mike and Alison say goodbye. Then watch, fascinated, breath bated, as the vet administers the injection.

“There,” says the vet. “He's at peace now-”

“It worked!” cries Alison.

The vet looks utterly bewildered. “Well, yes.”

“Really?” asks Mike.

“Completely worked,” she grins. Benji is surrounded, tongue lolling as he sits on Pat's feet and gets the ear ruffle of a lifetime. Thomas is trying to rescue his writing implements, and Robin growls playfully, getting a happy bark back.

“Quite so...?”

Mike snaps back to attention. “Right... I've got cash somewhere....”

“No, it's,” the vet stares at Alison, ignoring the body of her recently deceased beloved pet and instead grinning at a patch of carpet. “The clinic will send an invoice.”

“Cool, cool.”

“Uh, you can't keep Benji – it's the law, I have to take him away.

“Sure, no worries yeah?” Mike's eyes flicker to Benji's body, but then back to Alison, who's holding back a laugh. He wants the vet gone, so she can narrate to him what's happening. “Saves us a job!”

“Right...”

–

Sometimes Alison wonders if they've done Benji a wrong turn, keeping him here, weighed down with a collar of bags. (The ghostly artefacts tend to return to his collar if let go of for long enough.) But then she watches Thomas chase him up and down the stairs, trying to get his paper for a recent burst of inspiration. She sees his tail wagging and tongue lolling, and thinks – maybe he's okay after all.

Instead she curls up on the sofa with Betsy, an elderly Schnauzer they brought home when the shelter staff said everyone else passed her by. Something about most adopters not wanting animals in their teens. She pets Betsy's head and watches Pat throw the ball for Benji; both ball and dog careen straight through any obstacle except the dearly departed, leading to hilarious consequences when a ghost doesn't see them coming.

“How is he?” asks Mike, settling down with his laptop. He rests his free hand on Betsy's back.

“He's good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He's really good.


End file.
